Winifred Robin is Hali-gabera. Hali-gabera is Winifred Robin. She was here, in Arakaan, centuries ago, before Dad and Elsa stumbled through the dune sea gateway, before Roth invaded the Manor, before I was taken from the Cradle. She swiped away Roth’s jaw. She led the mortals of Arakaan across the sands and founded Asmadin. She is the legend of old.
This changes everything.
“Why can’t we tell them?” I whisper to Violet. “They have a right to know.”
We’re marching down the tunnel, keeping our distance from Elsa. Thankfully, she’s too worried about the lack of guards to notice: eyes forward, crossbow at the ready. Aki’s leading the three horses down back. Hickory’s frowning at the statues. He knows something’s up.
“They’ll never believe us, Jane,” Violet says. “We have no proof. And the Arakaanians worship her. They believe she died protecting them. What do you think they’ll do if we tell them she’s been living in an Otherworld?” She shakes her head. “We need to keep this to ourselves. For now. At least until we get the second key and figure out what all this means.”
“It means she lied to us.”
“She didn’t lie. She withheld certain truths.”
“That’s called lying, Violet.” The statues look so real. It’s like Winifred’s here, glaring at us, judging us. Younger than the Winifred we know, but still scarred and scowling. Brandishing swords and spears. Holding the arrowhead of Atol Na aloft, like a lightning rod. Offering it, like a gift. Swinging it, teeth bared. “How is this even possible?” I ask. “Hali-gabera’s buried here in Asmadin. Elsa broke into the tomb. Cracked open her sarcophabus and everything.”
“Sarcophagus.”
“Yeah, that. She said she saw bones in there.”
“They must’ve faked her death. Winifred and her sidekick. Inigo. Wouldn’t have been too difficult. Find some other dead body—maybe a corpse from the Canyon of the Dead—and wrap it up in secret. Inigo lugs it back to town, acts all sad and chucks it in the tomb. Done.”
“Why, though?”
“She had to leave. Maybe she didn’t want people to think she’d abandoned them. Maybe she was worried people would follow her and get themselves killed.”
“And she had to leave because . . .”
“Elsa said Roth got into Hali—I mean, Winifred’s—head, when she fought him down south.” Violet clicks her fingers. “I bet he saw Bluehaven. That’s why he pursued her all the way up here. He’d just had a taste of a different world and he wanted more. Winifred must’ve known he’d never give up trying to find her, so she fled north, across the dune sea.”
I feel like smacking the head off every statue. “Winifred led Roth to the dune sea gateway. But she got away just in time. So he waited there. This is all her fault!”
“Jane—”
“And she didn’t tell us. We’re cleaning up her mess.” I’m so angry I’d cause a quake if I weren’t so shocked. “How come nobody knows about this? You’ve read all her books, right? All her entries in the Bluehaven Chronicles? Surely she wrote about this.”
“She didn’t.” Violet shakes her head. “That’s what I don’t understand. She’s been to desert worlds, but she’s never mentioned Arakaan or Roth, I’m sure of it. She kept it a secret.”
“Like I said. She lied.”
“We’re close,” Elsa calls out. “Quickly now.”
There’s a spot of light up ahead, faint and hazy. The end of the tunnel.
Violet scans the statues again, nodding to herself. “This is why the Manor brought us all to Arakaan.” She leans closer, lowers her voice. “Roth didn’t kill Hali-gabera, which means he didn’t destroy the arrowhead, either.”
“You think it’s here?” I look at the statues, too. Even I have to admit, Violet’s theory makes sense. For the first time since who knows when, I feel a flicker of hope. “Where?”
“The dead keep their secrets,” Violet whispers suddenly.
“You think it’s in her tomb?”
“It has to be. Winifred worked so hard to save these people—she wouldn’t have wanted to leave them unprotected after she was gone.”
“I just told you, Elsa already checked the sarcopha-whatsit.”
“Maybe she missed it. Maybe it’s hidden in a secret compartment. We won’t know till we check it out. Until then, not a word.”
“Not a word about what?” Hickory asks, falling in step beside us.
“None of your business,” Violet says.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Hickory nods at the statues, looks back at me. “The woman who smacked you in the head with a shotgun back on Bluehaven. The woman who had a creepy vision and sent you both into the Manor. Winifred Bobbin—no, Robin.”
“How did you—”
‘The scars. You told me she had a face full of ’em. Also, I heard most of what you said just now. Honestly, you two whisper so loud—”
“What do you care, anyway?” Violet asks him. “I thought you’d given up.”
“I don’t care,” Hickory says. “And I have.”
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, pal,” I say.
“Hey,” Elsa whisper-shouts, “I said hurry up.”
We gather round the exit: an archway in the side of a sheer cliff. The storm has moved on, but the air’s still thick with dust. A wooden rope-bridge disappears into the haze. There isn’t a breath of wind. No scorpion tick-tick-tick. The city’s so quiet I can hear my heartbeat.
“We’re going across that?” I frown at the bridge. “What about the horses?”
“They’re used to it. But we’ll leave ’em for now. Someone’ll pick ’em up soon.” She tucks the end of her crossbow into her shoulder. “I hope.’”
I take the reins from Aki’s hand, tell him the horses have to stay. Violet pats Rex goodbye. I thank Scab for not killing me. True to form, he head-butts me, but it’s softer this time, almost tender. “I hate you, too,” I tell him, and smile.
The bridge creaks and sways as we cross it. The tunnel disappears behind us. It’s like we’re walking through a cloud. A network of interconnected ropes emerges from the dust all around us, strung up high and low. Small, tattered crimson flags are knotted along every one of them. Some kind of Arakaanian decoration. Some are decorated with bones—legs, arms and Gorani skulls—the rope tied around them, threaded through empty eye-sockets.
“Um,” Hickory says, “is this . . . normal?”
Elsa ignores him, tightens her grip on her crossbow.
A gentle breeze makes the crimson flags shiver, the bones rattle and sway. Gigantic pillars of rock emerge from the haze—dozens of them—each connected by the web of rope. An eerie forest of stone bound in string. Some of the pillars soar above our heads, others poke from the gloom below the bridge like pointed teeth. They’re adorned with carvings, too. Dark, empty holes, big and small. Columned alcoves. Decorative swirls. Weathered busts of Winifred Robin.
“Sheesh,” I whisper. “She’s everywhere.”
“Stop,” Elsa says, and we freeze. “Listen.”
I can’t hear a thing except the swaying creak of the bridge. Our own heavy breathing. I realize that’s what’s bothering Elsa.
“Maybe everyone’s still hiding from the storm?”
“Maybe,” Elsa says, “but unlikely.”
We can see the end of the rope bridge now. It’s fixed to another pillar—the biggest one yet. A thin path winds down the side of it, looping round and round, disappearing into the dust. Someone’s waiting for us, dead ahead. A hunched figure bent over a walking stick.
Elsa quickly raises her crossbow, wobbling the bridge. “Kala du napa!”
A faint cackle. A rattle of beads. “Nimbu tala,” a croaky voice says. “Welcome.”
Elsa doesn’t move. “Masaru, where is everyone? The gate was unguarded.”
“Oda min,” the old man coos. “Always so wary.” He shuffles aside with another tiny cackle. “You are home, and all is well. Come, come. Let me see her.”
“Oh, this guy isn’t creepy at all,’” Hickory mutters.
Elsa lowers her crossbow. Looks wary, confused. Tries to hide it with a smile. “It’s okay. We’re okay.” She holds out a hand. “Jane . . .”
Aki rattles his throat. Violet says, “Be careful.”
I flash them a forced smile. “You heard her. I’ll be fine.”
Elsa leads me across the bridge. We step onto the pillar’s stone landing, and I’m not exactly sure what I’m feeling, but it ain’t a sense of calm.
Masaru’s ancient: bald, wrinkly, and small. Bones dangle from his earlobes. The whites of his eyes are yellow. Pouches sag beneath them, big enough to smuggle baby birds, and his skin’s so pale it’s almost translucent. He’s dressed in a cloak that might’ve been red once, just like Winifred’s.
“Gods, am I glad to see you, oda mun,” Elsa says with a short bow.
“And I you,” the old man says, but his watery eyes are fixed on me. “Oh, yes . . .”
He hobbles over, shoulders bent, feet shuffling, circling me like a dog sniffing a tree. He sucks on his splintery teeth as he pokes my back, legs, and shoulders with his walking stick. When he reaches for my bandaged hand, I pull it away. Elsa shoots me a warning look.
Back on the rope-bridge, Violet pulls out her Boboki blade. Aki snarls. Hickory yawns.
“It’s okay,” I tell them, and hold out my hand.
Masaru prods the dirty bandage. Squeezes the wound, hard. I wince and yank it back, shocked. Masaru doesn’t seem to care. Just stares at my eyes, into my eyes, and takes another step toward me, uncomfortably close. He smells sickly sweet, like honey.
“What is this?” Violet shouts. “Elsa, what’s he doing?”
Elsa shushes her, though she looks a little bothered, too. She nods at me.
“Oh,” I say, and take a step back. I figure she wants me to introduce everyone. “Masaru of Arakaan. I’m Jane Doe of . . . well, Bluehaven, I guess.” I gesture at the others. “These are my friends, Violet Hollow, Hickory Dawes, and Aki, uh, Gorani? Don’t worry, he’s on our side.” Masaru doesn’t glance at them. Doesn’t even blink. What is he waiting for? What else am I supposed to say? “Um, we come in peace!”
“Gods have mercy,” Elsa mutters.
“Too much?”
“Just . . . stop.” She shoves me aside, takes the Cradle key from around her neck. “We’ve got it, Masaru. All three Cradle keys are—”
“Show me,” he says, holding out a bony hand.
Elsa blinks at him, startled, but hands it over. He inspects the key closely, muttering things under his breath. He has a fake key of his own, I notice, dangling from a thin chain around his neck, along with a dozen other necklaces bearing feathers, beads, and bird skulls. A plain clay medallion dangles from one of them. A palm-sized disc.
“It’s the real deal,” I tell him, nodding at the key. “I promise.”
Masaru grins at me, another cackle quivering his bony chest.
“What’s so funny?” I ask. “Elsa . . . ?”
“Oda mun,” Elsa says. Seems she doesn’t get the joke either. “You’re acting very strangely. We’ve come a long way, and I have so much to tell you. Yaku betrayed us. The Boboki attacked Orin-kin. We got away, but I fear they’re not far behind us.”
“Betrayal,” Masaru croaks. He turns to Elsa at last. “I know a thing or two about that myself, oda min. Yes, yes, yes.”
Elsa shifts on her feet. “I’m sorry, oda mun, I—I don’t understand.”
Masaru tut-tuts her. “Té na casai, Elsa. No more games.”
The breeze blows again—stronger this time—swirling the cloud of dust till the suns peek through and the canyon city’s revealed in all its dreadful glory. The towering, honeycombed cliffs. The long drop beneath us. All those dark, empty hidey-holes in the pillars, which aren’t so empty after all. There are people crouched inside them, perched like birds of prey. A hundred-odd red-cloaked soldiers with rifles and machetes, bows and arrows, all of them drawn and pointed our way.
“Come, come,’” Masaru says. “The council is waiting.”